


Come Here Often?

by Gadhar



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Barney runs a company and gets to go to social events in a monkey suit, schmooze for donations, and have bathroom sex with a degenerate sexy British guy who may or may not be frequently stealing money from rich socialites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Here Often?

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember for the life of me what started this. Maybe it was a conversation about Barney being a CEO I don't know, but here we go.
> 
> I do not own the Expendables.

He schmoozes his way through the crowd and even though he hates every single minute of it he does it anyway because, well, that’s what he’s paid to do.

This is what Tool, in his everlasting wisdom, thought would be good for him. The sad thing is he’s good at it, really good. He’s gotten more sponsors and donors in the last year Tool’s had him doing this than the companies gotten in the last five years. But it’s not _him._

He’s the wall of silence filling up a whole room with his broodiness. He’s not meant to be in a monkey suit pandering to the high-class assholes. 

And yet here he is, Barney Ross professional schmoozer for ET incorporated and he is so tired of having to say “No, not E.T. phone home, E.T. as in Expendable Tools, number one manufacturer for the lightbulbs you screw into your lamps to the Desert Eagle in the holster of a Green Beret.”

Barney sips at the water with a touch of wine in his hand and frowns, the caterers had said something about this being real wine from Italy and Barney’s offended on both a professional and personal level. Reasons why the world continues to think the only thing the old country has to offer is pizza and spaghetti sauce.

He can see the mayor of a rival company gliding through the crowd straight towards him and in the interest of avoiding that hot mess, he pivots on his heel, slides in between a few different social cliques and ends up on the far side of the room, clinging to the marble filigree like the other wallflowers. 

“Come here often?” Some slick accent murmurs into his ear and it takes more than Barney would like to admit not to flinch. He’s not used to people being able to sneak up on him.

“Depends. If you’re asking how often I admire the wallpaper then that’s one thing. If you’re asking how many times I’ve enjoyed some private time here then, well I can say not nearly enough.” It’s a variation of a line he’s used before on sponsors. He’s found the European ones, _especially_ the British, have some odd appreciation for lewd jokes and have no qualms about sharing them at formal events. 

It usually gets him a surprised look and a loud booming guffaw; people just start eating out of his hand.

This time around there’s silence and when he tilts his head, glancing out of the corner of his eye, he sees a small smile, lips teasing the lip of a wine glass, and a shadowed jaw that’s just sharp enough to split a hair. 

He’s already far more curious than he has been in at least two weeks. 

“You don’t look like the usual sort we get around here.” He’s changing plans, praying on that inherent belief all rich people have that they’re not like other rich people when really, they’re so damn close they could’ve come from the same damn womb.

In this case though, he’s a little surprised at how out of place this Brit looks. He looks good in a suit, no doubt, handsome face and strong hands. But he looks like a worker; the kind of guy that’d be fixing your motorcycle or serving shots at the bar. Barney even gets a vibe of ex-military off of him, something that makes the old Rangers part of his brain snap to attention. 

“I don’t think I look like much of anything. Real party you got here though, yeah?”

 _Definitely not typical rich._ Barney starts to amend the working profile in his head as they talk. “I’d kill for a good scotch but, these types can’t really hold their liquor.”

He gets an open smile at that, random flutter of _something_ in his chest and he wonders if he just hit the wine in his glass of water. 

“Now see me, I’d like a bottle of Glenfiddich, aged. That kind of slick heat down yer throat, bloomin’ in yer chest.”

Barney quirks an eyebrow as puzzles piece together in his head. “Good tastes.”

There was a woman he saw two weeks ago, the graceful bombshell type in a sapphire blue dress with a slit up to the hip. She was the latest in a string of robbery stories that Barney had been hearing about for the last year or so. They only ever took a few hundred, maybe some insignificant jewelry and they did by flirting their way into their targets bed. Most of the ones he spoke too had said it was worth it, one night of wild sex for few hundred. 

There’d been various accounts of the flirting, what lines were used and such, a few different spins on what went on beneath the sheets—many of them far too graphic for Barney’s taste—but a few things were the same.

British, young, good looking, and Glenfiddich. 

And the guy right next to him, eyeing Barney up and down like a piece of meat, fits all four to a tee plus a little extra. 

“I don’t have any money you know.”

The guy turns to him fully for the first time, there’s a color of shock making his skin go a little pale but it’s near imperceptible. “Sorry?”

“Don’t play dumb. Neither of us are like the rest of the rich fucks in this room. Wanna tell me what a British soldier like you is doing scamming people out of money through sex?”

“What makes you think I’m still active?”

 _No denial_. “Cause I find it hard to believe you’d be here unless ordered to by a superior officer. Something tells me you have even less patience for these things than I do.”

“But you’re still here, taking money just like I am.”

Barney scoffs, putting his glass on the tray of a passing waiter. “Except I do it legally.”

“There’s nothing illegal about a little quid pro quo, Mr. Ross.”

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

There’s another smile again, this one’s feral, all teeth and cutthroat and yet again Barney feels something in chest though this time it hits him more like a train than a simple little flutter. “Christmas.”

“Christmas,” Barney repeats because that is by far the stupidest name for a thief he’s ever heard but then he supposes it has this kind of poetic irony to it. “That’s cu-…”

Christmas is gone and Barney’s left standing there talking to the air.

xxx

Barney doesn’t see him again for a few weeks. Probably a good thing, considering his ability to charm the various socialites went to shit after his encounter with Christmas the thief. He’s not sure why but after that meeting any time he’d be trying to talk to someone else, he’d hear Christmas’ voice in his ear, or see his face off in the crowd. 

All in all, it was far too distracting for him to manage any sort of decent effort at garnering donations. As the weeks went by he got more focused, thought about the thief less and everything was fine.

And then a rival company knocked the wind out of his in a very unnecessarily blood way and he brought his own flask to the party. He was drunk, no doubt, able to walk and speak just as well as he could any other time but more likely to not give a shit about anything in particular so when Christmas sidled up to him again, out of nowhere, just like last time, he supposes it was the inevitable that happened.

“Come here often?” Christmas had asked again but there was a different kind of lilt to his voice that Barney didn’t have the patience to puzzle out. 

“Not since you disappeared,” he replies and Christmas’ face goes a little weird at that. Barney’s not sure why, he didn’t mean it any sort of way but then maybe he did. Maybe he meant it in a “haven’t come at all because every time I try to rub one off you’re in my fucking head and it’s not enough” kind of way. Maybe Christmas knows he meant it like that. He’s not sure. 

But then Christmas says, “maybe you should stop drinking”, hand reaching into Barney’s jacket, fingers, grazing over his chest in a way that makes him shiver, before slowly pulling out the flask and drowning what little bit Barney has left, Barney says “maybe you should stop talking” and leans in, sealing their lips together and cutting off whatever Christmas was about to say. 

How they went from there to the bathroom, Barney doesn’t remember, but he’s keenly aware of his own breath coming fast and harsh, groaning as his fingers flex on Christmas’ skull, the bastard sucking him off and _shit-_

He hasn’t felt anything close to this good in a long, long while. 

Christmas’ pulls back, tonguing around the head before taking Barney all the way in, _all the fucking way holy hell._

He’s finding it a bit difficult to keep control, to not fuck this kid’s mouth and come so hard he’ll see stars. But it’s almost too much—the hot, fluid slide of a tight throat that’s so fucking willing to take him, the lewd sounds that Christmas’ mouth makes around him, dragging more throaty and rough groans from Barney than he’d like. All a bit too much but the way Lee’s teeth skim down his shaft, just this side of light, he finds he doesn’t care, finds this is too fucking good and _fuck, this is why nobody misses the money they lose when Christmas robs them._

Christmas’ hands are on his ass, having slipped in the open front of his pants. And there’s a finger ghosting a long his crack, reaching down and ever so fucking slowly circling around sensitive flesh and when Barney jerks away from the feeling of a too-cool finger, he moves right into that goddamn mouth that’s sweet as sin and he’s being dragged into some dark warm oblivion that has him coming hard with his eyes closed. 

And it’s a fucking unfortunate thing that because Christmas swallows it all and Barney would’ve liked to see his face when he did that, because the picture he gets after—red, swollen lips, dusting of a blush over his cheeks and down his throat, such a contrast to the stubble along his chin, eyes dark with that edge of daring and mischievous.

Barney could almost come again just looking at that. 

Christmas rises to his feet in one fluid motion, muscles rippling under his suit and shit he looks really good in blue. 

“I have to pay you now?” Barney rasps and it’s only this side of breathy and weak. He gives himself a little credit for pulling it together so quick after a fucking blowjob like that. 

“I’m not doing this for money,” Christmas says and then his tongue is sliding into Barney’s mouth, curling around his own, hands still grabbing at his ass and he's grinding hard against Barney’s thigh.

“Fucking hell, Christmas.”

“Lee,” Christmas says against his mouth, slowing his grinding like he wants Barney to notice just how big he is down there. “My name is Lee.”

“Lee.” He likes the way it rolls of his tongue, so smooth and slick, flowing out his mouth just like his cock was flowing out of Lee’s. 

Lee pushes a little harder on his next thrust, "If we weren’t in the goddamn loo right now,” Lee pauses, chuckling, and the sound rumbles down to Barney’s bones and he slips a little lower against the wall. “Hell, the things I would do to you, Mr. Ross.”

“Who says,” Barney leans forward a little, pushes against Lee and wrapping his hand around that cock that’s been rutting against his thigh, “I’d _let_ you do anything? Pretty sure-” he starts stroking, listening to the hitch in Lee’s breath as he leans forward, lips teasing the shell of Lee’s ear and he can feel the build of a slight tremor going through the Brit’s body. “Pretty sure _I’d_ be the one doing things to _you._ And fuck all if I’d let a damn thing stop me.”

Lee chokes on air, maybe at the word “fuck”, maybe at the message itself, Barney can’t tell, but he’s leaning desperately into Barney, hips thrusting up, cock sliding through the circle of Barney’s fingers. 

Barney presses a light kiss to the skin under Lee’s ear, starts slowly sucking when he feels the shudder go through Lee’s body, feels that cock stiffen. 

“Close,” Lee grits out, hands bracing himself against the wall now, head on Barney’s shoulder as Barney kisses and sucks and pretty much does whatever the fuck he wants. He thinks though, despite how much he likes this—dragging this out and having Lee weak and needy for him, leaning heavily against him and trying so hard to get off—they probably need to end this and find somewhere better than a bathroom. 

So Barney slides a hand down into the back of Lee’s pants, slides a finger between his crack and listens to him gasp against his shoulder, brushes over the tense pucker of skin and smiles, letting his tongue tease Lee’s skin. “Close? Kid, you give me five seconds fucking this tight ass of yours I’ll have you coming in five seconds. Hell, I’ll make you come three times, fucking you deep and hard and listening to you beg-“

Lee bites his shoulder, whole body freezing, arching, and strung fucking tight as he comes in Barney’s hand. 

He lets Lee lean against him for a few moments, enjoying the pleasant warmth in his gut. Something about Lee and good sex and shit he could get use to this. And then Lee’s pulling away, staggering back to clean himself up and Barney does the same, still smiling. 

“You sure you didn’t come here for money?” Barney asks after a moment even though he knows the answer. It’s been a long while since he’s found someone that sparked his interest, but Lee’s about gone and set it on fucking fire. 

“I didn’t come for money. But I’ll be back again, nonetheless, I’m sure.”


End file.
